Rebellion
by CaroH
Summary: Pre-series exploring the consequences for all three Winchesters of Sam deciding to stand up to his father.
1. Chapter 1

This is set pre-series because I want to explore the relationship between the boys and their father. I'm sure this had been done hundreds of times before, but I feel there is so much potential to be explored. Also I have been suffering with a severe case of writers block and I'm hoping that this story will help me to overcome it.

**Rebellion**

**Chapter 1**

Sam Winchester had faced many scary things in his seventeen years. He'd survived a training regime that would have had many hardened soldiers running for cover. He'd lived in more places than he could count, and had killed things that most people believed only existed in nightmares. However you defined a normal life, his didn't even come close.

Despite all of that, he'd aced every subject he'd ever studied at school and had refused to give himself, body and soul, to the obsession that drove his father. And, today was the day that he was finally going to stand up to John Winchester. He'd never been more terrified in his life.

"Pack your bags. We're leaving in the morning."

His father's order had been delivered like always, in the tone of voice that precluded argument or questions. The older man was sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by disassembled weapons, not even bothering to look at his younger son. The sink might be overflowing with dirty dishes and Sam was pretty sure the fridge was a health hazard, but all their guns were kept spotlessly clean and in perfect working order.

Sam took a deep breath to quell the churning in his gut. "No," he said.

His father finally looked up. "What did you say?"

In some ways it would have been easier if his father had lost his temper and yelled, but that wasn't his way.

"I don't want to go, Dad. I like it here. I'll be graduating in a year and then..." Sam swallowed back the fear that was rising up in his throat. "Then I want to go to college."

"You're dreaming, Sammy." John turned his attention back to the gun he was efficiently putting back together.

Sam was tired of having no say in his own life. He had his own opinions and it was time for his father to listen to him. "No, I'm not. Why can't I have a normal life? I'm not like you and Dean."

The gun hit the table with a thud. John looked up, his expression dark and dangerous. Sam stood his ground, even though his palms were damp and the muscles in his legs were shaking. His father had never once hit him in anger, but that didn't make him any less frightening.

"We have a job to do," John said. "All of us. We know the truth and we have an obligation to save as many people as we can."

Sam had heard that too often, always as an excuse for the fact that his life was completely screwed up. "That's bullshit. You don't give a damn about anything except finding the thing that killed Mom. And, you'll sacrifice anyone and anything to find it."

He knew he'd touched a nerve and, for a moment he wavered in his resolve. He loved his father and worshipped his older brother. But that didn't change the fact that he wanted a life outside of hunting. He wanted a career, a home and a family.

"You're still legally a minor and you'll do as you're told." John's voice was soft. "Once you turn eighteen you can walk away from this family if you want. But, if you do that, don't ever come back."

Sam was so shocked that he couldn't speak. He turned around and walked into the small bedroom he shared with Dean, slamming the door behind him. He threw himself face down on the bed, punching the pillow over and over. If that was the way his father wanted it, then that was fine with him. His anger was so strong he was able to convince himself that he didn't care, despite the tight knot in his stomach.

SSSSS

Dean parked the Impala next to his father's black Sierra Grande. He turned off the radio and sat for a minute listening to the engine. It sounded like it needed a tune-up. He'd loved this car from an early age. By the time he was ten, he knew every inch of it and how to keep it in perfect working order. He'd been speechless when his father gave it to him on his twenty-first birthday.

He picked up the bag of groceries from the passenger seat, whistling happily to himself. They'd been living here for six months, which was longer than Dean could remember staying anywhere. He had a part time job at the local body shop and was steadily working his way through all the eligible attractive females who hung around the local clubs. Every few weeks, his father disappeared for a couple of days. Sometimes Dean went with him on one of his hunting trips. More often, he stayed home to look after his brother.

Sam didn't like hunting even though he was a natural. He'd tag along when he had to, and he'd do his part, but it was obvious that he wasn't happy. Dean's mood darkened as he remembered Sam's reaction to finding out that their father hunted monsters and that one of those monsters had killed their Mom. He'd tried so hard to prevent his brother from finding out the truth. Sam had only been eight years old, and had never looked at his father the same way again.

He looked around at the untidy front yard and dilapidated house. It was better than living in motels – but not by much. He'd seen some photographs of their old house in Lawrence, although he had only vague memories of ever living there. He remembered the fire the night their father gathered him and Sam up, put them in the Impala and drove away. Dean had decided a long time ago that he would never go back. He wasn't sure he could cope with seeing the place where their lives had been shattered.

He walked up the path which was overgrown with weeds and pushed open the front door. As soon as he entered the house he could sense that something was wrong. "Dad?"

"You're late." John continued tidying away the brushes and oil they used to clean their guns.

"Sorry. I had to finish a job and I stopped at the store on my way home." Dean set the groceries down on the counter. "Where's Sam?"

"We're leaving in the morning," John replied, ignoring the question. "Pack your things and see if you can talk some sense into your brother."

Dean frowned. "What's wrong with him?"

"He wants to stay here."

"Maybe he has a point, Dad. I mean..." Dean stumbled to a halt when he saw his father's cold expression.

"Are you going to argue with me as well?"

"No, Sir."

"Good. I want you both ready to leave at six o'clock."

"Yes, Sir."

He found his brother in their room. Sam was staring moodily out the window and there was no evidence that he had started packing. Dean pulled a bag out of the closet and began stuffing his clothes into it. After a few minutes, Sam turned round to watch him.

"Why do you always do what Dad tells you?" Sam asked.

"He knows what's best for us." Dean picked up one of his shirts from the floor and shoved it into the bag.

"How can this be what's best for us? He drags us around from town to town. We never settle anywhere for longer than a few months. We hunt monsters, any one of which could tear us apart."

"He's taught us how to protect ourselves."

"We wouldn't have to protect ourselves if he didn't make us hunt."

Dean sat down on the bed and considered his brother. Sam had shot up in the last year and was now well over six feet tall. He'd gone through all the typical teenage phases, too. He'd been moody, aggressive and could sulk quite spectacularly. Challenging their father's authority, however, was new and very worrying.

"Dad loves us."

"He's got a funny way of showing it."

"Don't do this, Sammy. We're a family, and families stick together."

"Haven't you ever wanted a different kind of life?"

Dean looked away. "What's the point in wanting something you can't have?"

"That's just it, Dean. Dad's made his choices. Why can't we? If he wants to leave, let him. We could stay here. I could finish school and..."

"No, Sam. Dad needs us and I'm not running out on him."

"So, you're just going to spend the rest of your life letting him tell you what to do," Sam said angrily. "I used to look up to you, you know? I mean, you were the one who was always there for me. Dad never was. He didn't care about me until I was old enough to hunt."

Dean's own anger boiled to the surface. "Don't you dare say Dad didn't care about you. All he ever told me was to watch out for you and that's what I did. You should try showing him more respect."

Sam bowed his head and his long hair hid his expression. "I'm sorry, Dean. I know what you gave up to take care of me. But, I can't do this anymore. I can't blindly follow his orders. I want my own life. I want to stay here."

"You can't. You know Dad won't let you. Things will get better, Sam. I promise."

"No, they won't."

Dean stood up and rummaged in the closet until he found Sam's backpack. He held it out. "You'd better pack. We're leaving early tomorrow."

Sam's mouth was set in a stubborn line as he snatched the bag out of Dean's hand. "Fine."

"Do you want something to eat?"

"I'm not hungry."

Dean didn't challenge that lie. He finished packing and left Sam alone. He found his father outside, loading up the truck.

"How is he?"

"He's only a kid, Dad. You need to cut him some slack."

"He's old enough to understand how to follow orders. We're fighting a war and we don't have time to argue over every decision."

"It isn't the same for him. He doesn't remember Mom..." Dean saw his father's expression change and tried to back away, but his father caught him by the front of his shirt.

"Stop making excuses for him. Your mother was killed by some unnatural son of a bitch and that's all he needs to know."

Dean had never seen his father act like this before and it frightened him. "I can take care of Sam. Just, please, don't fight with him."

"That's up to him." John released his hold and walked back to his truck. "I'm relying on you to make him understand. This isn't a game. If he doesn't follow orders he could get himself or one of us killed."

"I'll talk to him. You don't have to worry, Dad. Sam's never let us down."

Tbc

Caroline

September 2008


	2. Chapter 2

This is set pre-series. Dean is twenty-one and Sam is seventeen. Grateful thanks to my wonderful beta, Renegade.

**Rebellion**

**Chapter 2**

For over two hours Dean had been following his father's truck. Although it was still early, the day was shaping up to be hot now that the sun had burned away the morning mist. He tried to fight the urge to stamp down hard on the gas pedal and roar past his father. The open road was inviting and it was a strain to keep his car within the speed limit. But, there would be hell to pay if he was pulled over by the highway patrol.

It had been clear from the moment he forced Sam to get out of bed that his brother was not going to be good company. Dean had, therefore, taken great pleasure in cranking the tape player up as high as it could go. Every so often he'd sing along to one of the classic rock songs, knowing he was pissing his brother off.

He was halfway through "One Vision" by Queen when Sam reached over and turned down the volume.

"Hey!" Dean protested.

"D'you even know where we're going?" Sam asked, his tone betraying his simmering anger.

"San Francisco."

The passenger seat creaked as Sam straightened up from his dispirited slump. "Is that the truth?"

"Would I lie to my little brother?" Dean asked innocently and then hurried on before Sam could respond. "We're headed for the big city. Bright lights and lots of girls, just begging for a good time."

"Is that all you ever think about?"

Dean shot him a look of astonishment. His gangly baby brother hadn't yet noticed the looks that he was starting to get from the girls. Sam spent way too much time studying and not enough time enjoying himself.

"Dude, I'm twenty-one. What else would I be thinking about?"

Although Sam gave a long-suffering sigh, it appeared that the news of their destination had cheered him up. "Why are we going there?"

"Dad didn't say."

"Why didn't you ask him?"

"He'll tell us when he's ready. If you want to know so badly you can try asking him when we stop for gas."

"D'you think we'll have time to look around? Maybe we could spend a few days by the ocean." Sam's voice turned wistful. "I'd like to see the Pacific."

"I don't know, Sammy. You know what Dad's like. Get in, do the job and leave."

There was a prolonged silence. Dean could understand Sam's feelings. In all the years they'd been on the road they'd never been to the west coast. Most of their jobs had been in middle-American towns that all, somehow, ended up looking the same. Occasionally, their hunts took them into the countryside, but they never lingered after the job was done.

"Why don't we have a home, like Bobby?" Sam asked after a while.

"You know why, Sam. Dad's on the trail of the thing that killed Mom."

"No he isn't. There hasn't been any sign of it since the night she died."

Dean gripped the steering wheel harder. He'd never been good at discussing their mother. He'd been almost five when she died. He remembered her, whereas to Sam she was just a name and a face in the few photographs their father had salvaged from the house. "You don't know what you're talking about," he growled.

"I read Dad's journal."

Dean remembered that day all too well. It was Christmas Eve and their father was on a hunt. He'd left his journal in the motel and Sam had found it. That was the day that his brother had learned the truth and, as a result, wound up crying himself to sleep.

"You were eight years old. Maybe Dad didn't have a lead on that son of a bitch then. It doesn't mean he hasn't found out anything since."

"I read it again last month," Sam said quietly.

"I told you to leave it alone." Dean's temper flared and he slammed his hand against the steering wheel. "Why can't you do as you're told?"

"Because I'm not a good little soldier like you," Sam sniped nastily.

The words hung in the air between them. Rather than give his brother a piece of his mind, Dean's knuckles turned white as his grip tightened. He wouldn't give Sam the satisfaction of rising to the bait, but years of practice at hiding his feelings enabled him to keep the hurt locked away inside, where it only served to sour his stomach.

"Dean?" Sam said softly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

Clenching his jaw, Dean swallowed hard and reached over to the tape player, turning up the volume and effectively drowning out Sam's apology.

SSSSS

A mixture of guilt and irritation kept Sam quiet for the rest of the morning. He stayed slumped in his seat when they stopped for gas, not missing the unusually aggressive way Dean slammed the door after getting out of the car. By the time Dean returned, Sam had closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. It didn't make the silence any easier to bear.

The next stop was at a roadside diner. Although Sam's stomach was making embarrassing growling noises, he didn't feel much like eating. Dean was the one person in the world he never wanted to hurt and his thoughtless remark must have felt like a knife to his brother's heart. He hadn't missed the twitching of Dean's jaw afterward, nor the white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. It was times like this he often wondered why his brother didn't just haul off and cold-cock him. Sighing, he stuffed his hands into his jean pockets and trailed along after his big brother with his head down and a growing knot in his stomach.

The diner looked exactly like a hundred other places they'd visited over the years. There were booths around the outside and a counter surrounding the kitchen area. The air was heavy with grease and the smell of coffee. The waitresses were all middle-aged women wearing too much makeup and false smiles.

Sam slid into the seat next to Dean and hid behind one of the large menus. It was a flimsy barrier between him and his father, but it was better than nothing. The choice of food was uninspiring; with the only benefit being that it was cheap.

"Coffee, boys?" The waitress waved the pot she was carrying in the general direction of their cups.

"Sure," John replied.

Sam continued to study the menu, putting off the inevitable moment when he would have to speak to his father and brother.

"I'll have a cheeseburger," Dean said. "Extra onions."

Sam grimaced, anticipating an even more uncomfortable afternoon. "Club sandwich," he said, laying his menu down on the table.

"Ham and scrambled eggs," John said.

The waitress left and Sam concentrated on the steam rising from his coffee cup.

"Is something wrong with you boys?" John asked.

"No, Sir," Sam mumbled. "Just tired."

"Good. We've got a long way to go and a tough hunt at the end of it."

"Where exactly are we going?" Dean asked.

Sam looked up. There were no other customers within earshot and the waitresses were all gathered at one end of the counter, gossiping while they waited for the orders to be ready.

John leaned forward, lowering his voice so that it didn't carry beyond the booth. "Alcatraz."

That definitely caught Sam's attention. "What are we hunting for?"

"I'm not sure yet. Over the last couple of months there have been three unexplained accidents on the island. One involved a night security guard, but the other two were tourists. The island is considered a National Park and it raises a lot of revenue from the tourist trade, so it's been kept quiet."

"How did you find out about it?" Sam couldn't quite keep the challenge out of his voice. Their father rarely explained anything to them, instead only giving instructions and expecting instant obedience. It never seemed to bother Dean, but he preferred to understand why they were doing things and where the information had come from. It was this quest for knowledge that made him such a good student in school.

"That doesn't matter," John replied.

Sam kept a grip on his temper. "Why do you think it is anything more than a few accidents?" he persisted.

"Sammy!" Dean warned in a low growl.

Sam turned on his brother. "Why shouldn't we know all the facts? How are we supposed to learn if we're never allowed to ask questions?"

"You'll learn the same way I did in the Marines – listen hard and follow orders."

The arrival of the waitress with their food prevented Sam from saying anything further.

"What's the plan?" Dean asked as soon as they were alone again.

"I have the name and address of the security guard. We'll start by talking to him. Then, we'll take a trip over to the island and see if we get any readings on the EMF."

"How are we going to do a proper investigation when the whole place'll be crawling with tourists?" Dean asked.

"They do night tours which are limited to a couple of hundred people. It should be easy enough to slip away and keep out of sight until the tour ends. We can spend the night and then get back to the mainland when the tours start again in the morning."

"And I suppose no-one's going to question us about carrying weapons onto a National Park site," Sam muttered sarcastically.

John slammed his hand down on the table. "I've taken about enough of your attitude, boy," he warned.

Sam lurched to his feet. "What're you going to do about it, Dad? Send me to my room?" He strode away from the table, ignoring his father's order to sit back down. He knew that everyone was looking at him, but he didn't care. Slamming the front door open he stepped out into the blistering heat of the mid-day sun.

SSSSS

"Crap!" Dean started to move out of the booth.

"Stay where you are," John ordered. "He's got to learn that we're not going to put up with these tantrums."

Dean hesitated, torn between a lifetime habit of obedience, and a need to go and calm his brother down. "He's not a bad kid," he said. "He just needs some careful handling."

"We don't have time to indulge him. He needs to toughen up."

Dean looked out of the window. Sam was standing by the car with his back turned toward the diner. "I'll look after him." He turned back in time to see a peculiar look crossing his father's face.

John pushed his plate away. "I know you will, Dean, but he has to be able to look out for himself as well."

Dean took a few quick bites of his burger as his father paid for their meal with one of the many credit cards they had scammed from companies only too willing to accept their business. So far as Dean was concerned they deserved to be defrauded because of their hunger for clients. It was another thing with which Sam disagreed.

After leaving the diner, John walked over to his truck without stopping to say a word to his younger son. Only Dean saw the hurt look on his brother's face. He pulled the car keys out of his pocket and looked at them, chewing his bottom lip as he made his decision.

"Sam," he called. When Sam turned toward him he tossed the keys over. "You drive."

A broad grin brightened Sam's face. "Really?"

"Yeah." Dean smiled in return. "But you'd better take real good care of my baby."

"Thanks, Bro."

Dean settled in the passenger seat, switched on the tape player and closed his eyes. It didn't take long to convince himself that Sam would get over whatever was bothering him and that everything would be alright.

Tbc

Caroline

Sept 08


	3. Chapter 3

**Rebellion**

**Chapter 3**

So far, San Francisco had been a disappointment. Sam had opened the threadbare drapes expecting to see bright sunshine. Instead, he'd been confronted with a thick grey fog which obscured even the cars in the parking lot. It looked so cold and damp that he turned back to his bed and retrieved a jacket from his backpack to wear over his tee-shirt.

The bathroom door opened. Dean strolled out, a towel wrapped around his waist and a wide grin plastered across his face. The grin quickly disappeared when he looked toward the window. "What the hell is that? I thought California was supposed to be full of hot chicks in bikinis?"

Sam laughed at his brother's aggrieved tone. "We're here to work, remember? Not have fun."

His mood immediately soured. How often had he heard the same words from his father? He turned away to prevent Dean seeing his expression. It wasn't fair to burden his brother with the issues he was having with their father. "I made some coffee," he said, to cover the sudden silence.

Sam heard Dean moving around while he occupied himself with filling the mugs with steaming hot coffee. Then, Dean's hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed lightly.

"Give it time, bro," Dean said softly. "Dad'll ease up if you stop pushing him."

"Yeah. Sure, Dean," Sam replied without any conviction. He heard Dean sigh before walking away.

He sipped his coffee while Dean got dressed and checked his favorite gun. It was a beautiful nickel plated Colt 1911, semi-automatic which Dean would happily spend hours cleaning and polishing. Sam hated guns, although his pride had ensured that he'd worked hard to become a better than average marksman.

"Okay, geek-boy," Dean said, looking up. "What do you know about Alcatraz?" When Sam drew breath to answer, Dean held up his hand. "The short version."

Sam grinned. "I might have guessed that you'd only want the 'idiot's guide'."

"Having a high IQ doesn't make you any less of a jerk," Dean replied. "I think I liked you better before you learned to talk. D'you think all little brothers are a pain in the ass?"

Sam would have been offended, except that he knew perfectly well when his brother was teasing him. "I picked up a brochure in reception when we arrived last night. The island was fortified round about 1850 because of the gold rush. That was the time when San Francisco was..." Seeing Dean's raised eyebrow, Sam cleared his throat and started again. "Between 1934 and 1963 Alcatraz was used as a federal prison."

"Any violent deaths?" Dean asked. "We could be dealing with a restless spirit."

"There were no executions on the island, but some of the prisoners were shot while trying to escape and at least one guard was killed during a riot. I don't have many hard facts right now, though. I could have done some research at the library if Dad had bothered to tell us where we were going."

"Sammy!" Dean growled.

"I don't understand him," Sam burst out. "I don't even think I know him. It isn't like he was around much while I was growing up. Why does he keep pushing us away?"

"I think he's afraid of losing us too," Dean replied quietly. "He wasn't like this before...before Mom died. I don't remember a whole lot, but I remember him smiling and playing with me. He and Mom were happy, particularly after you were born. Then, after she...he changed, and every time he left us alone I wondered if he'd come back."

Sam felt tears gathering and blinked rapidly to clear them away. For a long time Dean had sheltered him from the truth, claiming that their father was a hero. Despite everything, his brother idolized their father. "I'll try harder to get along with him," he promised, seeing relief washing over Dean's face.

"Good. You know how I feel about chick flick moments and we were getting too close to one here, dude."

"Sorry if I was making you feel socially awkward," Sam retorted.

"Bitch,"

Sam relaxed, welcoming the brotherly teasing which had often eased tense situations in the past. "Jerk."

A knock on the door was accompanied by their father calling at them to get their asses moving. Despite his best intentions, Sam's stomach wound itself into a knot.

SSSSS

Dean drove them to Fisherman's Wharf in the Impala. It wasn't easy negotiating the steep, narrow streets. With his father in the front passenger seat, Sam was forced to sit in the back where there wasn't enough room to accommodate his long legs in comfort.

By the time Dean found a parking spot, the sun was beginning to burn away the fog. Since it was a Sunday, The Embarcadero was crowded with people. For a minute, Sam found it hard to catch his breath while he drank in the scene greedily. There were so many couples and families simply enjoying themselves, untroubled by the knowledge that bad things lurked in the dark. This was what their lives should have been like and he felt his resolve to leave the world of hunting behind grow stronger.

Sam struggled awkwardly to get out of his cramped position in the car. He was stretching his stiff muscles when he heard Dean whistle.

"Now that's more like it," Dean said.

Sam looked in the same direction. Three girls wearing the tightest jeans he had ever seen, and tops which left little to his imagination, were giggling and whispering together, while giving him and Dean appraising looks. Sam felt the heat in his cheeks as he blushed, wishing for the first time that he had the same cocky self-assurance as his brother.

"I am so in there," Dean said, taking a step toward the girls.

"Dean." John growled, catching his older son's arm. "The ticket booth is the other way."

Sam saw Dean wink at the girls, grateful that their father didn't appear to have seen his own reaction.

"What's the plan?" Dean asked.

"We'll take a trip out to the island in daylight first," John replied as he began walking toward Pier 33. "That will give us a good chance to study the layout and the security systems."

"Do you know exactly where the attacks happened?" This was the part that Sam enjoyed. He loved the research and the planning.

"Not yet. That's why we need information from the security guard. Dean and I will go and talk to him tomorrow. We'll tell him that we're reporters. Most people are happy to talk to members of the press."

Sam couldn't hide his disappointment, not that his father was paying any attention to him. It was only his promise to Dean that kept his mouth sealed.

"You know, Dad, Sammy's seventeen now. He should be more involved in speaking to witnesses."

John stopped walking and turned to look at Sam. "You think you can pull it off, Boy?"

Sam's surprise at Dean's intervention was immediately swept away by anger and resentment at his father's condescending attitude. "Yes," he replied.

John's eyes narrowed. "I'm giving you a chance to prove yourself. Don't make me regret it."

Sam's first impulse was to remind his father that he had been proving himself since he was a child. However, the agonised look on Dean's face made him bite his tongue. It took all his courage to meet his father's stare silently. He held tight to the knowledge that he only had to endure another year of this. College and a normal life beckoned him seductively. To his surprise, his father looked away first. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves and smiled weakly at his brother. After shaking his head once, Dean turned and strode back toward the Impala.

Tbc

Caroline

February, 2009


	4. Chapter 4

It has been a long time since I've been able to write regularly. Gotta hate writer's block. I think I now have this story figured out and I hope to be able to post more regularly.

**Rebellion**

**Chapter 4**

Dean waited only long enough for Sam to close the motel room door to let loose his temper. "What the hell was that all about?" he demanded.

There was a wary look in Sam's eyes. "I didn't do anything wrong."

"Don't give me that crap." Dean grabbed the front of Sam's shirt, shoving his brother against the wall. It took him a second to realize that he didn't have to look down to meet Sam's eyes. Damn, the kid was growing up fast. That thought made him even angrier. Sam was almost an adult and had responsibilities. "I spoke up for you; got Dad to agree to let you learn how to talk to witnesses. But, that wasn't enough for you, was it?"

"Let go," Sam said. "I'm not a child and I'm tired of being pushed around."

Dean relaxed his fingers and stepped back. "You make me sick," he snarled. "I get it that you think you're too good for the kind of life we lead. Well, that's just too bad."

"I never said that, Dean."

"You didn't have to. I'm not as stupid as you think I am. D'you think I like living in shit holes like this any more than you do? You're not the only one wants a normal life, but that isn't going to happen. When are you going to grow up and accept that this is all there is for us?"

"You're wrong," Sam replied.

The heat of Dean's temper began to wane. There was no anger in Sam's voice. If anything, he sounded sad. "I tried to protect you from the truth. I even stood up to dad when you were five and he wanted to teach you how to fire a gun." Dean thought back to one of the few times he'd refused to follow one of his father's orders. "That was one hell of a fight."

"What happened?"

"He told me that you either learned how to look after yourself, or I would have to be responsible for you." Dean shrugged, uncomfortable at revealing so much. "After that he started going away on longer hunts and leaving us on our own."

"I'm sorry," Sam said. "I started to hate him because he was never there. All the other children at school had parents who were interested in what they were doing. At first I thought dad didn't care, but then it got worse when I found out what he really did when he left us. Maybe it would have been easier if he had taught me to hunt when I was younger."

"No," Dean replied, utter conviction in his voice. "You got to be a kid for a few years."

"Why do you think I want to go college? I remember what it was like before I knew about demons and monster."

"You don't get to walk away and pretend evil like that doesn't exist." Dean could feel his temper rising again. He hadn't protected his brother all these years just to have Sammy walk out on him as soon as he was old enough.

"Yes, I can."

"You selfish little bastard." Dean clenched his fists, tempted to pound some sense in Sam's hard head. Instead, he turned away, wrenched the door open and stalked out to Impala. What hurt the most was that Sam didn't try to stop him.

SSSSS

Sam lounged in the passenger seat studying the map. "Second turning on the left," he said.

Dean grunted an acknowledgment. They'd wasted at least thirty minutes trying to navigate through a traffic system designed to turn the most even-tempered driver into a psychotic killer. He'd ignored Sam's suggestion that they should stop and ask for directions. Finally, he'd had no choice since his baby was rapidly running out of gas.

He'd had to wait, tapping his foot in irritation, while Sam and the attendant peered at a street map, discussing their best route. Now, they were running late and their father would be pissed when he had to wait for them back at the motel.

"Pull over," Sam said.

Dean parked up and stepped out of the car. The glare from the bright sunshine was muted by his dark glasses. They also hid the tell tale signs of a headache.

"How's the hangover?" Sam asked.

Dean growled an unintelligible response. It was all Sam's fault anyway that he'd stayed in the bar too long last night. "Address?" he snapped.

"1776 Page, Unit B," Sam replied.

Dean studied the row of terrace houses. The one they needed was white fronted and narrow, with steep brown steps leading up to the door. He led the way and pressed the bell. There was a soft click before a woman's voice floated over the intercom.

"Yes?"

"James Hatfield and Billy Gibbons," Dean replied. "We're with the San Francisco Chronicle. We'd like to speak to Mr. Bowyer about his accident."

"Wait a minute." The intercom switched off.

"What happens if she won't let us in?" Sam asked.

"She will."

"How do you...?"

"Shut it, Sammy," Dean interrupted. The pounding in his head increased. "I know what I'm doing."

They didn't have to wait long before the lock on the front door was released and they were instructed to go to the top floor. Dean led the way, determined to ignore the hurt he'd seen in his brother's eyes. Years of practice allowed him to paste a smile on his face when he reached the landing.

The woman waiting in the doorway licked her lips as she looked Dean over without a hint of embarrassment. Although she looked to be at least ten years older than him, her short skirt and low cut blouse were enough to make Dean's hormones wake up and take notice.

"Mrs. Bowyer?" Dean managed to ask.

"You can call me Virginia," she replied, her smile promising totally inappropriate pleasures.

"Dude, focus," Sam whispered from behind him.

Dean stifled a groan while he gathered his thoughts into some kind of order. "We're, uh, writing a piece for the paper about Alcatraz and the recent accidents and would like to ask your husband some questions."

"Sure, honey, come on in. It's not like Mal has anything better to do." She walked back into the apartment, her hips swaying noticeably in deliberate provocation.

Malcolm Bowyer was watching television, his right leg propped up on a stool. The cast ran from his ankle to his hip. He was unshaven and looked tired and unenthusiastic about having visitors. "What d'you want?" he asked without taking his eyes from the baseball game on the screen.

"The paper's interested in all the accidents..." Dean began.

"Why? Just a couple of stupid tourists getting too close to the edge of the cliffs and losing their balance." Bowyer glared at Dean.

"What about your accident?" Sam asked. He'd pulled out a notebook and was studying one of the pages. "According to the hospital records you said you thought you heard something before you fell."

"Who the hell's he?" Bowyer asked. "He looks like he should still be in school."

"His daddy knows the editor," Dean replied, giving Sam a 'shut up and leave it to me' look. "I'm on babysitting duty today."

That seemed to earn him some sympathy. "Grab a chair. Want a beer?" Bowyer offered.

"Sure." Dean smirked at Sam. "Kid's too young, though." He sat at a small dining table and waited until Virginia brought the beers before continuing. "Come on, man, give me something to work with. If I go back without a story my boss'll kick my ass and I'll be stuck looking after geek boy here for the rest of the summer." He was pretty sure he didn't want to look at Sam's face to see how he'd taken that comment.

Bowyer took a long drink before responding to Dean's plea. "You're going to think I'm crazy."

"I've heard plenty of crazy things in my line of work," Dean replied with complete sincerity.

"I was working the night shift. That's one creepy place at night, but the pay's good. I was checking the dock area and could have sworn I heard a baby crying down on the rocks. Like I said – crazy. Anyway, I was spooked enough to go and check it out. Guess I must have slipped. I lost my torch and fell."

Dean leaned forward, sensing that there was more. "What happened just before you slipped?"

Bowyer drank some more, and wouldn't meet Dean's eyes. "You print this and I'll deny it," he said. "It felt like...it felt like someone had grabbed my ankle. I freaked out, man. Next thing I know I'm laying on the rocks and my leg's busted in three places. And, I can still hear that damn baby crying!"

Tbc

Caroline

February, 2010


	5. Chapter 5

This chapter has taken forever to write and I have finally accepted that my muse isn't coming back. I intend to finish my ongoing stories, however long it takes, and then stop writing. Thanks to those who continue to follow this story, despite the unacceptably long gaps between chapters.

**Rebellion**

**Chapter 5**

The island was shrouded in a thick fog that was showing no sign of lifting. Sam shivered, oppressed by a sense of foreboding which would have been dismissed out of hand by his grim-faced father. They were no closer to figuring out what they were dealing with. The injured guard's story about hearing a baby crying before the attack was, most likely, the result of an over-heated imagination. But Sam was sure it was a clue, even if his father and brother disagreed. He'd stopped arguing with them, shying away from Dean's approving glances. His brother thought he was accepting his fate. He was wrong.

The boat was crowded with tourists despite the weather. Children ran around, ignoring the half-hearted efforts of their parents to control them. Young couples huddled over guide books, planning their day. It was all so normal, and a million miles away from Sam's own life.

Sam shifted in the uncomfortable seat, his leg bumping against his back pack. It contained a lethal assortment of weapons which, if discovered, would buy them all long prison sentences. It was almost ironic that they were smuggling guns and knives into what had once been a maximum security prison.

"Look." Dean's elbow connected with his ribs.

Sam's complaint was cut off by the sight of Alcatraz emerging from the fog. It was a mix of stark rock and shadow, carrying a sense of hopelessness that took Sam's breath away.

They were the last to disembark. Most of the other passengers were gathering around one of the tour guides. John ignored the crowd and pointed to the path leading up toward the main buildings.

"Come one. We've a lot of ground to cover." He set off, Dean half a step behind with Sam trailing after.

The heavy back pack was making Sam's shoulders ache. Dean showed no sign of discomfort, moving a easily as if he wasn't carrying fifty pounds of metal on his back. Sam knew that his brother was a hunter through and through, revelling in the thrill of the chase and not losing a minute's sleep over the number of things he'd killed. Some days Sam envied that simplistic and mindless approach. Mostly, though, it made him sick.

They spent the next few hours exploring every inch of the island. Even with its long history of violence there were no clear signs of restless spirits or demonic activity. In different circumstances Sam would have been fascinated by the old fortifications, the prison and the remains of the housing used by the prison guards and their families. He couldn't imagine what it would have been like to grow up in the shadow of one of the most notorious jails in the country.

But, they were there to work a job, not sightsee.

Late in the afternoon they reached the stretch of cliff where the security guard had fallen. The area had been fenced off, but that wouldn't deter anyone who was determined to reach the jagged rocks of the shoreline.

Sam rested his arms on the top rail and peered down toward the water. It looked cold and unwelcoming with waves battering the rocks. Gulls screeched above him and he caught glimpses of sleek bodied seals cutting a path through the grey water.

"We need to find a place to hole up," John said. "The last boat leaves in twenty minutes, but we can't do much more until the night tour is over."

"We still don't know what we're hunting," Sam said. "We don't even know if there is anything here for us to hunt."

"There's something here," John said.

"How do you know?"

His father's expression didn't change, but Sam still had to fight the urge to squirm under the intense scrutiny. He could hear Dean shuffling his feet, could almost feel his brother's annoyance, but he wasn't going to back down.

Finally, John broke the uncomfortably silence. "Instinct. Experience. The sixth sense you develop when you pay attention to what's around you. Is that good enough?"

Although he wanted to deny it, Sam had seen the evidence too often over the years. "Yes, Sir."

When his father began moving again, Sam followed slowly, surprised to find Dean keeping pace with him. His brother didn't look angry. He looked upset.

"Are you trying to drive him away?" Dean asked, keeping his voice low.

Sam stopped. "What?"

"While you were growing up Dad left us for weeks at a time. You used to bitch about how he was never around. If you keep pushing him, he might decide he's better off hunting alone."

"I wish he would," Sam replied. "It might give us a shot at a normal life."

The hurt look Dean gave him almost made him retract his words.

"You always were a selfish little bastard," Dean said. "Mom died trying to protect you and all you want to do is walk away from hunting the thing that killed her."

Sam's stomach plummeted. Dean and he frequently argued, but his brother had never said anything as deliberately hurtful before. "Dean...I'm sorry."

"Screw you, Sammy. We have a job to do so step up or get out of the way." Dean turned away and walked quickly after their father.

Tbc

Caroline

January, 2011


End file.
